


The Ship in the Mirror

by And_Dream_Of_Erebor



Category: The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-22
Updated: 2013-09-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 08:23:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/976595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/And_Dream_Of_Erebor/pseuds/And_Dream_Of_Erebor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elrond and the elves of Rivendell in the aftermath of Celebrian's parting for the Undying Lands.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Ship in the Mirror

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lynndyre](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lynndyre/gifts).



The elven riders reached the top of the hill overlooking the Grey Havens just as the sun was coming up behind them, painting the sails of the ship in the harbour gold. Cirdan was waiting for them in the harbour. They greeted him with respect, but no one smiled – this was not a happy occasion.  
The ship was Cirdan’s finest work so far. He had built a graceful, swan-like prow in honour of Celebrian’s Teleri ancestors. A soft eastern wind was making the sails rustle, and the cries of seagulls could be heard from the open sea. In different circumstances it would have been a pleasant morning to start a journey.  
Celebrian dismounted her horse. She seemed frail and small and her posture was slightly bent, like that of mortal people when they grow old.

Her children gathered around her; in turn, they embraced her and wished her a safe journey; Galadriel and Celeborn did the same. Celebrian said her farewells warmly, but with visible haste. She seemed uncomfortable and eager for the parting to end as soon as possible. She whispered only a few words back to each of them, until it was finally Elrond’s turn. The words of farewell he had prepared failed him; all he was able to say was: “I was not able to heal you, Celebrian.”

Celebrian's voice shook a little when she replied.  
“You must not reproach yourself, Elrond! No one in this world could have helped me as much as you did. Do not despair! We will meet again.”  
She embraced him for the last time, and then turned to board the ship. Her company followed -- five elves who had decided to travel with her, either because of their loyalty to the lady of Imladris or because of their own wish to see the Undying Lands. When the ship finally set sail, the five elves turned to look back at the company on the shore, but Celebrian did not. Elrond understood this was because the parting was almost unbearable to her.

Arwen touched Elrond’s shoulder and said: “We should go, Father.”  
They ride back to Imladris in silence. The horses whose riders had embarked on the ship followed the rest of the group. Arwen, Elladan and Elrohir took position on Elrond’s left and right side, as if guarding him, and Celebrian’s grey mare Hithiel trotted behind them.  
When they reached the ruins of Fornost Erain, Galadriel and Celeborn said their farewells: they would part from the company from Imladris here and take the Old Road to the south. Galadriel spoke briefly to Arwen; Elrond noticed that she gave her a translucent object that looked like a large jewel, but he was too distraught to ask or wonder what it was.

* * *

In the days that folowed, Elrond found the best place for him to be was his library. He sat at a desk by one of the windows; the large tree outside the window allowed just enough light to pass through the leaves for him to work in comfort. He chose a very damaged old scroll written in Tengwar symbols, and started writing a copy on a large piece of paper. When he concentrated on the lines and curves of the letters, everything else seemed subdued, including his loss.

His children would come and talk to him, one at a time. They spoke to him about daily matters only. Although they were as saddened by their mother’s parting as he was, they didn’t share his undeserved feeling of guilt. They were aware that he felt it, though, and they understood that no words could change it.  
Glorfindel would also visit him daily. He had silently taken upon himself the duty of steward and marshal, and would give his report to Elrond every afternoon. Elrond was grateful for this: his realm was in capable hands, and he could continue his self-imposed solitude for as long as he needed.

One day, after giving his report, Glorfindel added in a hesitant voice:  
“Your people would be grateful to see you amongst them, Lord Elrond.”  
“I know,” Elrond said quietly. “Soon, I promise.”  
After a slight pause, Glorfindel spoke again:  
“If I could help you, I would.”  
“I know,” Elrond said, but his words were choked. Glorfindel placed a hand on his shoulder, then silently walked away. When he was at the door of the library, Elrond called him.  
"Glorfindel!"  
"Lord Elrond?"  
"You _are_ helping me."

Ten days later, Glorfindel came to him with some alarming news: a hunting party had been attacked by Orcs in the Trollshaws. No one had been wounded, though, and no more than three Orcs had been spotted. Elrond's face darkened when he heard this. He gave the orders: he would lead thirty of his best men, heavily armed, to search the Trollshaws the following morning. The Orcs would be destroyed without mercy.

They had to start from Imladris a few hours after midnight to reach the Trollshaws before dawn: Orcs would only be outside at night, and the approaching morning light could help incapacitate them if the fight proved unexpectedly difficult.  
Elrond's men were as grimly prepared for their task as he was. Together they took walked down a path lit by lanterns hanging from the trees to the paddock where they kept their horses. As the Elves mounted their horses, Elrond glanced at Hithiel. She was standing a little apart from other horses, but she was grazing calmly. She didn't seem distressed. Elrond wondered if he could take this as a sign that her mistress was safe and well.

They rode through the night in silence, breaking it only to try and establish the exact location of the Orc attack. Once they found it, the Orcs' tracks were easy to follow.

Their horses were the first to sense danger. They made no sound, but their nostrils flared and their ears flicked nervously back and forth. In a whisper, Elrond ordered his horse to stop and the rest of his company followed suit. The terrain was bare and didn't offer many hiding places, but there was a thicket-covered mound to their left. Elrond indicated it with a nod and said: "Aim!"  
Just as the Elves were drawing their bows, arrows flew in their direction from the thicket; all of them missed, and they numbered less than ten. It looked as if the task was going to be easy. When the Elves released their arrows, a commotion was heard from the thicket. The Elves drew and shot again, swiftly and as one, before the Orcs had time for their next shot.  
Elrond immediately gave the order to charge towards the thicket. When their horses broke into gallop, three Orcs appeared out of the other side of the thicket and ran down a stony path. Without stopping, Elrond called out the orders: half of their party was to remain and search the thicket, and he would lead the other half and hunt for the three runaways.  
His sons and Glorfindel were among his half of the company. They would have overtaken the Orcs in an instant, but their quarry suddenly vanished from sight as if the ground had swallowed them. When the Elves came closer, they saw that the Orcs had descended into a small ravine hitherto hidden from sight.  
"After them!" Elrond cried and gave the command to his horse. He was already riding downwards as fast as his horse would go when he heard Glorfindel crying out, "Elrond!" He glanced back. The others were already following him, with Glorfindel in the lead.

Only a moment too late, he realised what Glorfindel had tried to warn him about. Of course this could be a trap. However simple they might have been, Orcs were not beasts. Fighting was the one thing they were good at, and they were perfectly capable of setting a trap. No sooner had he become aware of the danger than it made itself visible: at least ten arrows flew from behind a rock at the bottom of the ravine. Elrond heard a cry. He shot an arrow, aiming behind the rock, and turned to look behind. His heart sank: he saw Glorfindel falling behind his horse. This was not a good moment to turn back, though.  
"Stay with him!" he shouted to Elladan, and then he charged towards the bottom of the ravine, his fury doubled, shooting arrows as he rode down. When he reached the bottom he leapt off his horse and drew his sword. Elrohir and others followed and did the same. The Orcs -- eleven in all -- were no match for them. It was an execution rather than a battle.  
As he was sheathing his bloody sword, Elrond remembered that Galadriel had once told him that Orcs ought to be pitied. When he asked why, she said that she had seen glimpses of a secret in the mind of the Enemy, but it was too terrible to be told.  
Whatever it was, it could hardly matter today. The Orcs had first taken Celebrian from him, and now Glorfindel. Pity would have to wait.

After establishing that his other companions were unharmed, Elrond climbed back to the place where Glorfindel had fallen. He was lying on the ground, with Elladan kneeling beside him. When he saw his father approaching, Elladan stood up and said:  
"He is breathing, but unconscious. The wound from the Orc arrow is not deep, but his head hit a rock when he fell."  
Elrond knelt beside Glorfindel. His grey eyes were open, but lifeless, as if beneath a veil. On the left side of his head his hair was darkened with blood. Was Glorfindel, after so many battles and dangers, going to die now because of his folly?

Elrond opened the leather pouch he had fastened on his belt. Inside were a flask and a piece of soft, finely woven cloth. He poured some of the liquid from the bottle onto the cloth, and the sharp smell of herbs filled the air.  
Very carefully, Elrond lifted Glorfindel's head and held the cloth against the wound. He placed his other hand on Glorfindel's forehead and called out, in a shaking voice, to Estë the Gentle to heal Glorfindel and keep him among the living.

For a few moments nothing changed. Then Glorfindel's breathing deepened, and he closed his eyes as mortal men do when they sleep. When he opened his eyes again, there was life in them again.

“A trap, Elrond!” he said in a hoarse voice.  
“Yes, my friend, it was a trap. I have made a grave mistake, and you almost paid for it with your life,” Elrond said. “But it is over now. The Orcs are all destroyed, and I will be foolish no more.”  
From that day on Elrond resumed his duties, and spent much less time alone in the library.

* * *

 

Two moons after Celebrian’s departure, Arwen gathered her father and her two brothers at a black marble table outside their home. The sun had set. It was a clear evening and the first stars were already appearing. Arwen held a small phial that shone like a jewel in the starlight.  
“This is water from the well of Galadriel,” she said. “She gave it to me the day Mother left; she told me to keep it for two moons, as long as the voyage to the Undying Lands lasts. It might give us a glimpse of her arrival.”  
She spilled the water on the marble table. It spread evenly and became like glass, showing first the reflection of the stars, and then of four dark-haired heads as they leaned over the table to gaze into it. But then they saw what looked like a silvery mist and, against it, the silhouette of a swan-like ship. Six figures disembarked from the ship, one by one; the last one was clearly recognisable as Celebrian, but she looked like her old self again,  tall, straight and youthful as she stepped into the silvery mist. Then the mist dispersed and they were looking at mere water spilled over black marble, but Elrond felt that his heart was finally at peace. Celebrian was well, and when they choose do make their journey they would see her again.


End file.
